A Young Ootori's Notebook
by ko-drabbles
Summary: A Young Doctor's Notebook AU. "There's more than enough to convict you, you know…" Haruhi began, a solemn, regretful look on her face. "That book is decades old," He waved away, a dry laugh in his voice, "It's rather sad, if you ask me. The only evidence they've collected is a few prescription slips and an old notebook of a dewy eyed, bushy tailed student..."
1. Conviction

The clubroom was silent as Kyoya reclined on one of the sofas, a cold cloth on his forehead and looking at his fellow, ex-hosts with distain. Tamaki seemed to have dragged him here out of some sense of nostalgia, hoping to evoke some sense of _want_ in him, for a time long gone. That was certainly futile, as all he felt in that moment was a sense of annoyance and nausea.

His oldest friend only returned the gesture, a black notebook thrown onto the table with a sneer of disgust and pity. Well, Kyoya couldn't give a fuck. Not now. That was all in the past, completely disregarded. What this place meant to him now was more sinister, the stage that showed his tragedy play only for it to be panned by the critics; ignored. This was the venue of his downfall, and if Tamaki thought it would give him _warm fuzzies_ , he was frightfully mistaken.

They all looked _worn_ now, weight on their shoulders. Successes. Tamaki even had the beginnings of crow's feet framing his eyes, an odd silver thread in his hair. Still beautiful, of course, but tired and stressed. He hadn't faired much better, but the sweat on his brow, his pallor and the gaunt frame was due to something else, not just age.

"There's more than enough to convict you, you know…" Haruhi began, a solemn, regretful look on her face. She was pretty too, with that distinguished, mature air her husband had still. It was hard to recall when they were all teenagers playing pretend now, so many years having passed.

"That book is decades old," He waved away, a dry laugh in his voice, "It's rather sad, if you ask me. The only evidence they've collected is a few prescription slips and an old notebook of a dewy eyed, bushy tailed student. I'm not denying they can convict, I'm just saying that it's been going on for quite a while, and that's the best you can do –"

"Shut up for once," Tamaki huffed, hand coming up to rub at his forehead. The light glinting off the gold band made him turn away; or that's what he would swear in court. Honestly, this was unnecessary at best, "Withdrawal is a bitch, Kyoya. Jesus… I at least thought you were smart enough not to do this sort of thing. You always seemed… almost _pure_. You did everything perfectly. I just don't understand… Why? Why risk it all?"

Kyoya merely barked a laugh, turning fever glazed eyes over the people who used to be his friends. In all honesty, if they really were, wouldn't they have noticed sooner? Still, a good question. Why had he? It wasn't as if self-sabotage was new to him, but his decision had been, quite frankly, stupid.

"Desperation?" He ventured, not caring whether Tamaki wanted a concrete answer, or if the question was rhetorical for that matter, "Trying to decipher the mind of a desperate addict, one in withdrawal for that matter, is a rather pointless venture."

"Well, according to you, I've always been fond of those," Tamaki retorted, opening the notebook and pushing it towards him, "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"


	2. Acceptance

The third music room was more or less silent, bathed in the glow of the sunset and the relief of its boisterous occupants going home for the day. The only real noise was the furious clacking of laptop keys and the odd pissed off grumble. The young man sat in his usual chair, trying to streamline documents, balance budgets, and get everything in a little more order. It was his final year, and soon the documents would be handed over to the twins and Haruhi.

They'd agreed at the time, the twins tipsy on slightly illegal drinks, in-between suggestive comments and the like that came with being intoxicated; he wasn't completely innocent, either. The party atmosphere had truly relaxed everyone, even if a few had abstained from the scotch, vodka and wine his father wouldn't notice going missing.

He still had a few months at Ouran, then it would be exams for university, and then medical school, providing he got in. Well, he would, but a pessimistic outlook meant that one would never be disappointed –

"Or, life will meet all your expectations, and you'll feel all the worse for it."

Kyoya turned around, spying an older man with his glasses, black hair, and an ill-fitting suit. He looked like he'd been through the wringer, to say the least, but there was an odd feeling of belonging. Like this wasn't unusual. In fact, the answer he gave the man was simply a shrug, before turning to explain himself.

"Well, in that case, I think you know what I'd do," He stated, leaving that to hang in the air, because the burns on his tongue and the red-raw skin on his back was plenty indication, "It's not like it's a perfect system, I know that, but I always have the successes I wish for."

"Keep telling yourself that," The older man replied, looking over his shoulder at his open notebook before Kyoya snatched it away, "No point doing that, I already know what's in it."

Before Kyoya could throw out a retort, he was cut off by the door opening and the sound of good quality shoes hitting the polished floors. "Come one Kyoya, it's seven o'clock in the evening!" Tamaki yelled as he skidded into view, hair and uniform in disarray, "Tachibana-san called me, asking if you were at the Suoh estate! Why aren't you at home?"

"God, I forgot how beautiful he was like this…" The man sighed wistfully, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, "Of course, I never got to do anything. Didn't stop any of the fantasies, however…"

 _Disgusting pervert_ , Kyoya thought, but didn't say, choosing to just answer Tamaki's questioning. He didn't have time for sickly, middle aged men; not when his best friend seemed somewhat upset with him. It wasn't as if the man didn't have a point; Tamaki was always beautiful, and the mussed hair, tie and flushed cheeks didn't help his… situation.

"I'm trying to get everything more organised," He informed, closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm, "We have six months left, Tamaki; everything needs to be done in four, and then we have final exams and university exams."

"Exams, exams, exams," The man mocked, pulling a face, "I personally thought you enjoyed the challenge? Well, that was when everything's all pretend; now it's a little too real, and you want to run away. A bit pathetic, isn't it?"

"Well, that's true," Tamaki hummed, a hand running through his hair, "I still have… No idea what's happening, what my plans are… It's kinda scary, isn't it? Exciting, of course! We'll be discovering new knowledge, ideas, people…"

Kyoya was dreading it, in all honesty. New people meant replacements, and he and the other hosts would be separated. He was an ass, cold, and not very likable, whereas everyone else seemed so… bright. Beautiful. Amazing people with a draw to them. They'd find new friends and he'd do as he always did, stew in a corner. Give pretty, fake smiles and keep everyone at arm's length. That was the way it always was.

"God, don't tell me I was always this emo," The man groaned, laying on the sofa with a hand over his eyes, "You can smile and make friends, Tamaki's proof of that. All you have to do is be a bit more genuine. Fat chance of that happening, I know; but you should at least try."

"New challenges," Kyoya nodded with a smirk, tone a little firmer than he meant it to be, "You're quite right, it promises to be a very interesting, new game to play. I personally can't wait; prepare to be creamed in our exams, my friend."

Tamaki laughed, the sound lilting and light, and clasped his hand. "I look forward to it," He promised, and something in Kyoya's chest swelled, "I'm not going to just take it, you know; you're going to have to put up a fight this year. In fact, I'm already studying."

Kyoya chuckled, more than ready for this sort of teasing, egging each other on to do their best. "I've been preparing myself, and I don't plan to lose," He grinned.

"Oh, how touching," The man huffed, somehow feeling the need to put his two cents in, "Stop drooling over him. If you've moved on, which you should, that's the end of it. He's not yours, and you just walk passed anyone and anything that might be better."

 _I am over him… I just like to pretend every once in a while_ , Kyoya thought, saying to Tamaki that he'd be off home soon, and saying that he needn't worry about him. There was nothing wrong, after all; he was just finishing off his work.

"And talking to yourself," The man pointed out, but when Kyoya turned to face him in order to deliver his rebuttal, he found himself alone. Again, there was that feeling of normality, so he soldiered through the possibility that he was going insane and picked up his notebook, writing a new entry.

 _It seems I am merely a glorified accountant here, not that I ever wanted frivolous girls fawning over me. I don't mind my work, as it suits my own tastes, but there are times when I would like a little more excitement, not to mention time away from my mind. There are even times where I wish that I myself were a client; but that is just a moment of ridiculousness that I have come to associate with being Tamaki's best friend._

 _Still, I look forward to seeing how Haruhi, Hikaru and Kaoru will fill their new roles and carry on our young traditions. I hope I can keep in contact, yet know that between lectures, exams, and socialisation, I will barely have the time. As Tamaki said to me, this is where we'll meet new people; I did not expect to keep them as my friends forever. People are not that constant, and I think everyone is in agreement to that. New experiences change us, so I doubt that our friendship can stand the strain and twists of something like that._

 _We'll move in different directions, that's a given. Still, I do find myself slightly mournful of this; an odd desire to preserve this moment in time forever. That would not be wise, however. This is life, and I accept that._

 _I will accept that._

* * *

"Well, I can't say you're wrong about that," Hikaru began, pinning him with a look, "We dove into our further education and careers, you dove into a pill bottle, followed by a syringe."

"Hikaru, stop it," Kaoru warned, turning his gaze back on Kyoya. The other man was looking a little green beneath his flush, but that was just another side effect of withdrawal, he supposed. It was the stereotype of the addict attempting to give up his vices; sweat and puke were always there in some way.

It was obvious, sickeningly so, that there probably wouldn't be much to throw up. Not that he wanted there to be, for the sake of Kyoya if no one else, but it was something that made his heart ache; seeing what had become of him. Maybe they should've noticed. Kyoya was just too perfect for that, however.

"It's fine," Kyoya sighed, looking utterly pitiable, "Could I just get a glass of water?"


	3. Sertraline, 50mg

**A/N:** **BEFORE WE BEGIN, BECAUSE I KNOW I'LL GET A MILLION COMMENTS IF I DON'T CLARIFY: My headcanon for Kyoya's grandmother is that she's both English and Christian. Their grandfather was pretty much an atheist, so they tend to go with more Christian traditions and holidays. Kyoya was even a choir boy for a little while.**

* * *

It wasn't before long that the clink of glass on table grated against Kyoya's pounding head, Haruhi never did learn Tamaki's "pinkie trick" properly, but he was thankful that she was more punctual than her husband. His throat was dry, he was nauseous, and he had to steady himself as he sat up, the world tilting dangerously sideways. Instead, he felt Kaoru's gentle hands on his shoulders, guiding him into a more stable position, before leaving his bony frame to brush his too shaggy, unprofessional hair away from his sweaty forehead.

The passage of time was not always something he was acutely aware of, but that was the norm for someone who indulged in his… vices. Everything was questioned; was it even real? Time was real, despite some saying that it truly wasn't, because it all just seemed to press down on him in that one moment. Clear and hazy seconds, minutes, years just seemed to hit him all at once and, for the first time in a while, Kyoya felt _old_.

He was only in his, admittedly late, forties, and he felt like some sort of frail octogenarian; it was a little humiliating, and his cultivated vanity was appalled. His hair was starting to grey also, from the stress and strain he put himself and his body through. His knees were aching, despite him sitting, and he could see how prominent the bones in his _hands_ were. He was a wreck, really. A pretty boy turned into a mess of an addict.

Still, it was actually rather amusing, in some sickeningly morbid way. He was obviously unwell, displaying all the red flags that the media liked to pounce on, draining it of any potential scandal that it could hold. Before the truth came out, before he got too desperate to hide his _issue_ from the public, the worst insinuation was that he was ill.

No drug rumours, nothing about anorexia, or anything of that like, because that wasn't what an Ootori was. An Ootori was strong and composed, they certainly didn't dabble in things like prescription pills, morphine, and even heroin. Diamorphine, that's what heroin is in medical terms, used for moderate to severe pain. After all, diamorphine has the same effect as morphine at half the dose, and he can only justify and fudge so many numbers.

Kaoru's hands helped steady his shaking ones as he brought the glass to his lips. He gave the other man something of a half-hearted glare, despite the fact that he almost spilt it over himself. He just took deep breaths between sips, trying to get his stomach to settle, pretending that this wasn't as pathetic as it was.

"While we get that you felt miserable, why all this?" Hikaru huffed, though there was genuine concern and query in his eyes, from what Kyoya could see, "Why forge prescriptions? Why morphine? Why fucking _heroin_?"

"It's not like I set out to become a drug addict," He drawled, but it only seemed to make him sound even more tired, "It didn't start like that. At first, I needed what I was prescribing myself…"

* * *

He was miserable.

That wasn't particularly a new state of being – he'd been on the receiving end of far too many well-meaning hair ruffles and pitying coos to be blind to the so-called "tragedies" in his life. Still, this particular brand of miserable was nearly unbearable. It reminded him far too much of middle school, his chest tightening at the realisation that it might be happening again, when that wasn't an option.

He wasn't sleeping without over the counter pills, he wasn't hungry and couldn't make himself eat, he didn't want to see anyone. He'd just holed himself up in the nice apartment his father had arranged for him, close to his university; like he somehow managed to combine coddling and independence. Thinking on it now, it was probably his stepfather's involvement also, but still. He was rather grateful for not having as many responsibilities as "commoner" students, having spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep.

He knew it was lazy, not to mention unbefitting and more than a little antisocial, but he didn't really have the energy to care anymore. That was the real issue. Not caring, then caring too much about said apathy, and it was something so confusing that he often just stared at the wall, head feeling as if it were floating several feet above his shoulders.

Still, his family didn't even notice when he returned for the holidays. Wasn't that a slap in the face? Yuuichi and Akito were grinning while running around the mansion with Fuyumi's little boy and girl, trying to discover the hidden presents. His father and step-father were in the kitchen, attempting to bake gingerbread without assistance, clad in hideous Christmas jumpers. He'd already heard the fire alarm go off several times, so he supposed that it wasn't particularly successful.

It was... odd. Like he was watching everything unfold behind the glass of a television screen. No one could see him, he was just on the outside looking in. The mansion was warm, there were so many people, but he still felt so... cold. Lonely. Isolated. He sighed, finally unlocking the door of his old bedroom and immediately catching a whiff of burnt sugar. Well, that was going to hang around for days.

It was all too little and too much at the same time. The terrible twosome - and the children - seemed to have moved on to somewhere else, leaving the hallway feeling almost abandoned in the cool December light that peeked in through the windows. He could hear muffled commotion, but nothing clear or vivid.

 _"Yuzuru, get off!"_

 _"Come on, Yoshi; it's mistletoe!"_

 _"Oh... You incorrigible old sod."_

It was so... happy. Surely his grandmother and grandfather were around somewhere, probably in the courtyard if those screeching noises really were tires on asphalt. His aunt would probably stay in her cave on Mount Crumpit until it was time for mass, whereas his uncle promised that he'd say hello before hitting the bars this year.

 _"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT CORRUPTING MY KIDS?!"_

 _"It's the witch, run! Protect the presents!"_

 _"WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YUUICHI?!"_

Kyoya swallowed around the heart in his throat, blinked back the sting in his eyes. It was all fine, there was nothing to be upset about. It was just one of those times where apathy rubbed away, revealing something rawer. He was tired, a little frustrated with himself, and he knew that if he were to go downstairs, this feeling off hollowness would at least be warmer for a little while.

Rather than go downstairs, Kyoya had a different idea in mind. After all, he'd managed to diagnose himself, and he didn't want to admit that what he had wasn't even physical. There was no medical reason for his low energy and even lower mood, merely something psychological. Basically psychosomatic, really.

No, rather than go down and sit by the fire, letting Yuzuru ruffle his hair and his father watch him playing puzzle games on his phone, he snuck across to Yuuichi's office. His brother had taken it over since their father retired, very much intent on sticking around, much to their fathers' hidden dismay, and there was one key difference to how Yuuichi and their father arranged the space; Yuuichi was predictable.

He closed the door softly behind him, though took normal steps - not tiptoeing like he once had. It was less conspicuous to act as if you were doing nothing wrong, after all. He merely went over to the desk, opening the top draw, and there - under a file - was his brother's prescription pad. There were even pens in a nice little stationary cup on top of the desk, waiting to be used.

He put the pad on the table, putting the pen in his left hand rather than his right to imitate that God-awful scrawl his brother wrote in, and filled in those important little details. Sertraline, 50mg, to be taken once daily. Easy enough.

He tore it off neatly, like his brother tended to do, and pocketed the slip. He'd take it to the pharmacy soon. Not the one in the hospital, of course; that would just be stupid. It would be too easy to get caught out, after all.

For now, he just went back to his room to put the slip in his bag, feeling at least slightly more productive than he had in weeks, finally with a plan.

When he finally settled down in front of the fire, the little ones swarming him with their cute cries of _uncle Kyo_ , it still felt a little empty. He just played around a little, got them to settle down, and laid down next to the little rascals, cuddling up to them as they snuggled into the ugly – but fluffy – rug that Yuzuru had insisted on.

It would do for now.

* * *

 _The Christmas season has come once more, it seems, and Kiyomi and Daisuke are growing like weeds. It seems like only yesterday that I was their age, and my brothers were running around with me to find the hidden presents. Time flies, I suppose; whether you're enjoying it or not._

 _It's the fragility of the line between past, present and future, I suppose. After all, when is it drawn? The past ceases to exist and then you find yourself looking back over it, going by in a rose-tinted blur. It always seems sunny in hindsight, I find. It's just a shame that I'm a miserable sod in the present, but I look back over memories I once found boring and feel warm nostalgia._

 _Perhaps, if I allow myself to dig into my own psychology for a moment – which is the purpose of these entries, I suppose – it's probably due to my own set of complexes. I won't allow myself to find joy in frivolous things in the present, so it's a delayed reaction. Suppressed. It's just another way I differ, it seems; usually, people repress the bad to protect their psyche from trauma, whereas I do the opposite._

 _Of course, I also suspect that the past looks so sunny because it holds some of my most innocent mentalities and cherished memories. I remember sparkling princess dresses and my rosy cheeked, albeit temporary, crush on Kuze – not that it didn't end in heartbreak and the loss of some innocence, on both sides. I remember church choirs and being picked for my first solo performance, and how much praise I was given by my grandmother and even my aunt. I remember stargazing and lips pressing against my own, both of us laughing as if we were normal teenagers who had no worries, yet acting like we didn't know each other that following Monday._

 _Of course, I also remember the host club. It's still so strange to thing that it slipped into the past, almost like sand between my fingers. I feel so isolated. Tamaki and I still see each other, now stepbrothers, but he's not here yet. He wants to spend time with Haruhi and Ranka, but he did promise that he'd be over soon._

 _I don't want to be so dependant on the relationship we have, but Honey was never my favourite person, and my friendship with Mori was more silent companionship. We've drifted apart, somewhere along the way. Hikaru isn't interested in talking, any texts we try to send back and forth tend to be succinct, and not in the pleasant way._

 _I haven't spoken to Kaoru in months, I'm not sure why. Perhaps I should reflect on that more, rather than the past. After all, I still haven't answered a single text or email he's sent, feeling far too… afraid of rejection, I suppose. Perhaps that's why Hikaru has nothing to do with me anymore…_

"Oh, boo hoo."

Kyoya huffed, turning to see the damned old man again, still looking less than put together. To add insult to injury, it also seemed he was going mad. Some ghostly spectre that looked to be a cheap knock-off of the ghost of Christmas future had obviously taken a liking to him, and the bastard's hobby was nit-picking.

"You know why you don't want to talk to Kaoru, you just wrote it," The old man drawled, hauling himself up pathetically into a half-sitting position, "You're a coward, and an idiotic one. The solutions to your problems are just _so simple_ but fear always gets in the way. That's what Kyoya Ootori does the best; run away."

"Shut up!" He snapped, feeling far too drained to deal with the assault on his character at the moment, "I didn't ask your opinion."

"Self-reflection," The man smirked, voice lilting almost serenely until he doubled over, dry-retching over the arm of the chair he'd sprawled over.

"Oh… Whatever," He muttered, closing his notebook with an air of finality before climbing into bed, eyes straying to his bag. He'd take it to the pharmacy soon, and he'd be fine. He would.


	4. A Spider Web in Broken Glass

"You were depressed?"

Haruhi's voice cut through the silence of the club room, even Kyoya turning his tired, bloodshot gaze to her. Her brow was furrowed, head tilted to the side in confusion, something a little too close to hurt marring her features. It wasn't the done thing to upset Haruhi; the club was made up of six boys who would do anything to see her happy, even if their willingness to admit that varied. He saw Haruhi as a little sister, especially with all the comments Ranka had made about adopting him - God rest that beautiful soul. Therefore, the sight of her upset was one that made him feel... guilty.

Contrary to popular belief, Kyoya Ootori did in fact have both feelings and a conscience. He was one of those boys who used to bawl their eyes out if they disappointed any adult in the vicinity, even if he had grown out of that by the second year of elementary school. He didn't like hurting people. He always hated it when his mother asked him about friends and, when he replied that he only had associates, she would give him that sad, knowing smile; she knew it meant "I don't have any friends".

Despite his age, despite all their ages, it was like the crease between Haruhi's eyebrows were a punch to the gut.

"You had us. You didn't say anything," Tamaki continued when Haruhi seemed to be at a loss for what to say. His hand clasped her shoulder, a tangible reminder that he was there to support her, and Kyoya felt some distant sadness at the gesture. Almost fifty, and no one to give him the same gesture; the closest thing to a chest to lay his head on and two strong arms to hold him was a bottle of pills, a vial of morphine, and syringes. Pathetic.

"There was no point mentioning it," He began, feeling the tension of the room increase tenfold with that comment, "I just... I wasn't going to jump off the nearest building. I was just numb. Tired. Unmotivated. There was no use talking about it, because there wasn't anything you could do. I just needed the anti-depressants."

Looks were shared, and Kyoya couldn't help but feel as if he must have missed something. It was like they were seeing something so clearly, even though he couldn't perceive it at all. He didn't know what the looks meant, but he knew they'd tell him soon enough - even if he didn't want to know.

"You know that meds... Only go so far, right?" Kaoru began tentatively, eyes wide and sad, a slight glaze over them. If Haruhi's hurt look made him feel like he'd been punched, Kaoru's was like getting shot. Still, he couldn't make himself speak up, couldn't say the words he always thought and never said, because they weren't what Kyoya Ootori was supposed to be; he didn't want to be a burden.

"I was there, Kyoya," Kaoru began once again, his voice thick with tears that made Kyoya dig his too-long nails into his wrist - hard. He hurt him. He hurt them all, "You could've picked up the phone, texted, emailed. Fuck, I was always there, and you didn't even send me a single word. Not even a hello."

He was a horrible person, really. They were right when they called him a demon, evil, anything like that. His wrists stung, something warm trailing sluggishly down his arm, but he only tightened his grip. He deserved it. He deserved the pain like he deserved his life crashing down around him. Karma. He brought it on him-fucking-self because... Happiness was too hard for him.

Large, strong hands pulled his bony one away from his wrist, calloused thumb brushing away the thin track of blood that ran down from violently crimson marks. Kyoya just bit his lip, feeling undeniably small in Mori's soft grip, forcing himself to look at that concerned expression. This is what he does. He worries people over nothing.

"Don't hurt yourself," Mori murmurs, voice low and rumbling, and Kyoya vaguely remembers putting his hand down his boxers and moaning as he thought of that voice telling him how good he was, how beautiful. He was a horny little shit as a teenager, not that anyone knew, but it was still something he felt guilty about. Friends shouldn't think about friends that way, and Mori would be disgusted if he knew.

He just nodded vaguely in response, turning back down to the non-judgmental, impartial floor once again. He could stand looking at the polished floor much easier than his worried, disappointed friends, after all. Not that he could blame them; this was never meant to happen. After all, the pills were working alright when he first had them.

However, these things never seem to last…

* * *

The room was trashed. That was the first thing he noticed when his consciousness slowly reappeared, the last who-knew-how-long a blur and too intangible to take a hold of. It was all far too strange, and the mess in his once pristine apartment was almost overwhelming. There was so much to pick up, so much to clean, so much to fix. It was like the strewn and discarded belongs were slowly piling on his back, weighing him down and crushing his rib cage.

The mirror was smashed. The cracks running across the glass seemed almost like a spider's web, drawing him in and making his gaze stick to the centre, the only thing he could do was to wait for something wholly unpleasant to come along. It was a shame too, a nice thing that was good craftsmanship, but it could be replaced. It could all be replaced, because it wasn't special. Nothing in this room was; it was expensive, but uniform. Black and whites that looked like a carbon copy of some magazine. A home that was too cold and sterile, too replicable, to ever feel cosy.

Even his blood could be easily replaced, he reminded himself as he finally felt it trail down his fist, warm and wet. He could be replaced in his entirety, actually; he was just as uniform as the apartment's furniture. He wasn't sure why anyone would want a carbon copy of pathetic, cruel, evil Kyoya, though. An improved version, perhaps; prettier, kinder, softer, _better_. He was a spare of a spare, an accident, so he could understand the want to have him be something else; he just felt as if he couldn't change himself.

He tried, after all. The pills were meant to make him happy, but all they did was provide some temporary relief - and some side effects. He couldn't eat properly, his usual jeans and hoodie he wore for lectures hanging off him more than usual. He woke up with numbness that prevented him from simply standing. He was nauseous, constantly. To crown it all, this was another bad day of a bad week of a bad month.

"We get it already," The old man groaned, and Kyoya gritted his teeth, feeling as if he might punch the man in the face, "Angst, angst, angst. I'm Kyoya Ootori and my life fucking sucks, despite having more than anyone can ever want. This isn't enough, you feel empty and unfulfilled, so you're going to take it out on the furniture. Very mature."

"Will you just… leave me alone," He grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to think about how he should even start to tidy up the chaos. He should probably shave before his next lecture, there was the pickle of stubble against his palms. Honestly, it all seemed like such a big chore. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep, but he hadn't even been awake for an hour, and he slept entirely too much the night before. Not to mention the few days before that. He either slept for around fifteen hours or didn't at all, and the yoyoing between the two was exhausting all by itself. Still, he couldn't bend to that exhaustion, he _couldn't_ leave his apartment in this state.

"No, you can't," The old man sighed, "If you're so intent on living in a pigsty and becoming a worthless procrastinator, then go ahead. However, if you want to do the _sensible thing_ and fix this, then you should go to the doctor. You have the privilege of being able to go for the smallest of quibbles, so take advantage. What good is being rich and having an excess of time if you don't use it to better yourself?"

"What about yourself?" He scoffed, shooting a glare at the man, lip pulled into an almost feral snarl, "You don't do anything! You only sit there and critique how I live my damn life, looking as if you're about to drop dead! I've had enough of the constant assaults against my character, my choices… Why don't you bugger off and leave me be!"

The man leaned forwards, elbows against his knees, studying him as if he were only a sample under a microscope. Something to be examined and dissected. His expression was odd, somehow managing to be both humoured and humourless; contradictory and unsure. Something in his chest shrank, reminded of his father before Yuzuru managed to thaw him a little, and the man cracked a misplaced grin.

"You do know that I can't do that, don't you?" He began, grey eyes tearing apart every twitching muscle and crease in his expression, "I can't leave you, much like you can't leave me. I'm in your head, and you're in mine. This is some odd plane between reality and actuality. Between past and future, but not present."

The explanation unsettled him, but he didn't question it. He didn't do anything more than shutting the door behind him before falling into bed. The mess would be there tomorrow.

Maybe he could find his sanity there too.


End file.
